


Fireworks

by Chummy



Series: Warm Summer Nights [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Other, does this count as a fix it fic?, how i wish tommy’s exile had gone, the older sibling dynamic i crave, they’re brothers ur honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:13:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28652550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chummy/pseuds/Chummy
Summary: They’ll talk about it tomorrow. Over breakfast where Tommy will complain about the knot he definitely has in his neck and Techno will dig his fingers into it because it’s funny.
Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Warm Summer Nights [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099811
Comments: 9
Kudos: 259





	Fireworks

_ I’ll listen to the memories as they cry, cry, cry.  _

“I didn’t know where else to go,” the words are quiet, nearly going unheard as the pattering rain and distant thunder rolls overhead. 

Techno doesn’t lower his crossbow but his grip on it slightly loosens as his heart regains its normal rhythm and his mind catches up to his body. He had been shocked to say the least, getting a knock in the middle of the night when you are a wanted criminal is rather  _ jarring _ , no matter how seasoned in adrenaline inducing situations he is. 

He thought he was opening the door to a white, daunting,  _ familiar,  _ mask. Which would’ve been met with a flurry of arrows and  _ a lot  _ of violence. He breathed in the cold night air that drifted in through the open door, past the disheveled, almost  _ pathetic _ , figure in front of him.

_ Tommy.  _

It was Tommy, looking more ragged and torn since the last time they’d seen each other and that was in the middle of a  _ War. _ Techno slightly cringes at the memory, the look on Tommy’s face as he yelled at him, the sick feeling of victory as everything turned to ash, the distant figures of Wilbur with his fathers sword through his stomach. 

What a day.

“What do you mean  _ you had nowhere else to go?” _ He vaguely remembers showing Tommy his house, back when they were on speaking terms. He remembers regretting it as Tommy started ransacking his drawers and rooms like the ill mannered child he is. 

The Tommy standing in front of him seems centuries older than the Tommy that had tracked mud and snow into his house on purpose that distant winter afternoon. 

Tommy sighs, shoulders shaking with exertion and the cold, in the back of his mind he realizes he should probably let Tommy in before he freezes to death in front of him but he’s still, very confused.

“Last I heard you were-“ he starts and gets nowhere as a second wind seems to pass through Tommy’s bones.

“Exiled,” he spits, through gritted teeth and cloudy eyes that tells Techno he's remembering something rather awful. 

“Exiled?” He repeats because  _ what the fuck?  _ How do you get exiled from your  _ own _ nation? 

“Yes exiled, thrown out, cast away, sorry was exile too big a word for you?” it’s biting and angry but familiar, so Techno only sighs in return. Something in the way Tommy shoulders droop in quiet relief tells him he’s also glad for the familiarity. 

“Harsh words for someone close to dying of hypothermia,” he clicks his tongue and finally lets the crossbow point to the floor as he leans against his door, effectively blocking the entryway. He can’t let him off too easy. 

“Asshole, let me in and I won’t have to lose any of my fucking fingers,” Tommy yells, waving his slightly blueing fingers at Techno’s face. God, how long had he been walking out in the cold?

Techno pretends to consider it, because he’s an asshole. Then steps aside to let Tommy in, because he’s an asshole but that’s his brother standing out there after all. 

_ After everything.  _

He doesn’t say anything as Tommy once again tracks snow into his carpets and floors, just closes the door behind him and watches him collapse in front of the fireplace. 

It’s quiet then. It fills the room, not enough to be suffocating, enough to be noticed. 

The fire crackles, the storm rages, Techno sits and watches Tommy’s fingers dance too close to the flames. 

-

Tommy falls asleep on the floor. He left him there as he tidied around his sleeping limbs and snores, occasionally adding wood when the flames turned to embers. 

The day broke slowly, with it the color regained to Tommy’s face, cheeks slightly pink now from the heat that enveloped him.

_ That can’t be comfortable.  _ A voice whispers in the back of his mind as he takes in the awkward angle of Tommy’s neck and cheek pressed against the floor.  _ He doesn’t deserve to be comfortable, _ another voice answers, blistering and mean.  _ Why did we even let him in after everything he did? _ The whisper swirls in his head, multiplying and multiplying until it feels as if his brain was filled with wasps.

_ Why? Why? Why? _

_ He’ll use you again, he always does.  _

_ He’s so broken. _

_ It’s deserved. _

_ Is it?  _

He rubs his eyes beneath his glasses. Hard enough to see stars dance in the darkness behind his lids.

_ He’s my brother,  _ he breathes into the dark of his mind. That’s the one thing not up for debate. 

_ He was your still brother when you fought him, nearly killed him. _ That too, was also not up for debate. 

But he has morals, skewed and more black than gray but they're definitely… there. He doesn’t kick an enemy when they’re down and Tommy is definitely down.

_ Is he an enemy? _ Not a lot of enemies sleep on each other floors. Maybe they’ll be the first ones. Woo, go them. 

He sinks into the armchair, fatigued as his veins simmer with rising anger that he dutifully ignores. 

They’ll talk about it tomorrow. Over breakfast where Tommy will complain about the knot he definitely has in his neck and Techno will dig his fingers into it because it’s funny. 

_ I’ve missed him,  _ he realizes. It’s not one of the voices. 

-

_ It’s cold. Cold and wet. Tears the only warmth the long night offers him. He's too young to ever remember the moment clearly, too young to be so alone, too young to know such abandonment. He only knows of this story through the quiet moments of recollection his father gives him.  _

_ “You were so small, I couldn’t leave you there,” is how the story always ends. Fireflies dance around them, he is sticky from the warm summer night and the warmer limbs settled across him. With a soft, grieving smile and relieved eyes, the unsaid question of ‘what would've happened if he didn’t take him in that night?’ easily stays unanswered.  _

_ Wilburs head is heavy in his lap, unruly curls sticking to the sweat on his thighs as their dad smiles down at them.  _

_ “I couldn’t leave any of you,” He says. Techno thinks he smiles, he can’t remember. The fireflies swirl and swirl and shine together brighter and brighter until he has to look away.  _

_ When he opens them again Wilbur and his dad are gone. He’s cold and alone and a lot older. The only warmth on him are trails of blood that aren’t his. They aren’t his. Who’s are they?  _

_ There’s a flash of green somewhere in the dark. It terrifies him. It excites him. A smiling mask and laughter. He feels himself laughing back.  _

_ The ivory plate of bone sits heavy on his cheeks. This mask is heavy, he thinks. It’s heavy. He’s tired. He swings his sword into an abyss and leaves behind streaks of red.  _

_ It’s dark. His cape is warm. The sky is burning. The red on his hands is Wilbur. The muted screaming is him.  _

_ He wonders then, bloodied, enraged and used, does his father regret that night?  _

He gasps when he finally wakes up. A nightmare. This is why he doesn’t sleep anymore he groans, rubbing a hand over his face and reaching blindly for the glasses that had slipped off him in his not so peaceful slumber. 

He takes a solid breath before opening his eyes again, tapping his fingers against the leather to the beat of his racing heart, counting it as it slows down. 

The sun is only barely rising over the horizon, casting orange hues and heat into the walls. He probably only slept for two hours then, more than enough for the week. 

He eases himself off the chair, ready to start what's surely to be an  _ event  _ of a morning when he hears a soft thump followed by a muffled curse. 

Tommy is no longer on the floor in front of him.

God damn it.

He doesn’t rush, because Techno doesn’t panic, but he does walk a bit faster down the winding stairs to whatever Tommy stuck his grimy nose in.

The curses and murmuring become sharper as he walks towards the kitchen, turning to find a very displeased Tommy flipping off one of his cupboards.

“What did it tell you you’re ugly or something? Because it’s right you look gross,” he says, and chuckles at the screech it tears out of Tommy. 

“We need to put a bell on you or something bastard, you’re way too quiet!” he yells and Techno instantly misses the quiet mornings he used to enjoy. 

“A bell? This is  _ my _ house Tommy. I’d say you wear the bell but everyone can hear you from two mountains away,” he brushes Tommy aside, shooing him away to the table by digging his fingers into Tommy’s neck. 

“Ouch! Fuck! Can you not be a dickhead for two seconds?! I’m all sore from sleeping on your hard ass floors. Thanks by the way, not like you could’ve put me on the couch or anything, now my spine is about to come out of my ass and it’s all  _ your _ fault,” Tommy gestures and pouts and exaggerates as he stretches across the table with terrible posture. Techno rolls his eyes and ignores him as he sets out to make breakfast. 

It’s quiet again. Save for the birds waking up, it’s quiet enough Techno is sure he can  _ hear  _ the morning rays melt the fresh snow. 

He’s always liked quiet mornings. It feels like easing into a day, welcoming it slowly as it welcomed you. 

He used to wake up first, earlier than his father, rising with the sun and to Tommy’s snores. On days where he was feeling particularly annoying he’d plug Tommy’s nose until he sputtered awake, who would then wake up Wilbur to yell at him but he wouldn’t, he would laugh sleepily and tell them both to shut up. 

They wouldn’t. It wasn’t quiet, it was nice anyways. 

He glances over at Tommy, despite the color regained to his body his eyes are far away, jaw tightly set and fingers tensed around nothing. 

He doesn’t like quiet Tommy. At least not like this, god knows he’d  _ kill  _ to have certain moments of peace with Tommy involved. 

He spares a moment to think on how to get the full story. Wilbur would probably know, he’d always been good with things like  _ feelings _ . But Wilbur isn’t there, and that’s a whole other ballpark of torn heart strings he’d rather not bring to the breakfast table. 

Bacon sizzles in the pan, Techno breathes, Tommy doesn't.

“So what the fuck happened?” he decides on, because he  _ isn’t _ Wilbur and tact was never his thing, he really doesn’t see a reason on starting now. 

“I already told you, are you getting that old you’re getting memory loss?” Tommy snarks and it's clearly a  _ I don’t want to talk about it  _ as anything but Techno isn’t perturbed. It’s gonna come out eventually, he’s always had trouble being patient.

“You said literally one word then collapsed, forgive me for not deducing your last twenty four hours from that,” he slips the bacon from its pan onto a plate, slapping Tommy’s hand away as he reaches for the meat. 

“Last two weeks actually,” Tommy mutters as he dramatically rubs at his hand, sticking his tongue out when Techno rolls his eyes at him. 

Techno pretends not to bristle, cracks open the eggs and scrambles them in the pan as he thinks. It makes sense. Tommy’s appearance is enough of an indicator that whatever was going on, had been going on for a bit. 

“You’ve been in exile for two weeks?”  _ and already cracked?  _ goes unsaid but Tommy seems to hear it anyways, mouth tilting downward in a scowl. 

“Yeah, two  _ splendid  _ weeks,” he grits out, as he rubs and picks at his nails, a habit he picked up from Techno when they were younger. Mighty great influence he’s been. 

He readies both plates, settling it down directly on top of Tommy’s fidgeting hands to get him to stop before sitting across from him. It’s silent, Techno is inviting him to break it. 

Tommy does, with a full on groan as he shovels the food into his mouth. Techno bites back a remark about how the food is still hot and takes in Tommy in the sunlight. 

He hadn’t noticed the sunken cheekbones and eyes last night. They’re screaming at him from across the table. 

“What have you been eating?”  _ Has he been eating at all? _ God why does Tommy get himself into so much shit? He once again thinks of sending their dad a parenting for dummies book. 

“Whatever I can get my hands on,” Tommy says through a mouthful of eggs and bacon, lips and cheeks smeared with butter and grease. The sight is familiar, and gross. “But sometimes  _ Dream _ would bring-“ The words seem to catch both of them off guard. As Tommy freezes, nearly chokes and Techno watches with lead in his lungs. 

“ _ Dream _ ?” It’s slightly accusing how he says it, but can anyone truly  _ blame  _ him? For a treacherous moment he wonders, if this was all a setup to catch him, Tommy being the only one who knows where he lives and his vicious loyalty to idiotic governing ideals, maybe he was simply bringing a criminal to justice. Like the hero Techno  _ insulted _ him to be. 

But Tommy  _ flinches _ at the name. Wincing and barely shaking as memories of whatever happened to him in the last weeks batter him from every direction. He’s never seen him like this before, not even when they stood at opposite ends of a war, Tommy was proud. Too much for his own good but he was,  _ is.  _

Techno always thought,  _ knew, _ one day it would be his downfall. A part of him twists with the glee of being correct yet again but it’s poisoned by the blur of tears in his brothers eyes. He didn’t realize until that moment, he would’ve been okay with being wrong.

“What did he do, Tommy?” The world is still, his head is buzzing, the teeth of whispers sink into his brain, his fingers and chest, bloody and craving for more.  _ Blood, blood, blood, always looked so striking especially across white. _

Tommy doesn’t answer, doesn’t meet his eyes, his breaths are short and ragged. He practically stinks of fear. 

Techno has seen Tommy afraid, has been the cause too many times to be forgiven. Yet he always was. 

This fear is different, it’s sickening to see and he can feel rage climbing up his bones. His mask is in his bedroom. Scuffed and polished and ready to deal with whatever this is. 

“Answer the question,” his voice is rough and for seemingly the millionth time he wishes Wilbur was with them. 

Tommy opens his mouth, once, twice. Words trying to form around a racing mind. Techno watches him breathe, clench his hands and blink. His patience continues to run thin until Tommy swallows on a breath and looks at him with a raging storm in his blue eyes.

“I thought he was my friend,” he half whispers, voice cracking and small. 

A memory claws its way through his mind. Urgent and hazy. 

A younger Techno, watching over an even younger Tommy. Running through their nearby forest as Techno collected wood. Tommy had come along hoping to be allowed to cut the wood this time, but he was still too small and the tool was too heavy so instead he spent his energy jumping from sun ray to sun ray as they cleared through the flourish of leaves to the grassy floor. 

“Don’t run where I can’t see you,” he had warned, multiple times until he got tired of his own voice. Settling into his chore, occasionally glancing at the blur of blonde and giggles that would circle around him. He would ‘tsk’ and roll his eyes, pretend to be annoyed with his pestering, as if he wasn’t glad for the company. 

It happens in the brief moment of Techno looking away, he doesn’t remember what distracted him, a bee? But it distracted him long enough for Tommy to barrel through bushes and nearly down a hill. It’s the sound of snapping twigs followed by a cry that alerts him. 

“Tommy!” he's at his side in an instance but not soon enough. Never quickly enough. He kneels next to where Tommy sits, hand clutching a knee that’s scraped and bloody, with equally scraped fingers and hands. 

He gently takes the injured leg in his hands, to fully inspect the damage, looking up to Tommy’s face and nearly freezing in shock.

He’d expected tears, blubbering and sobbing and snot. There were tears, a few crawling softly down dirty cheeks, curving and disappearing into his dimples because he was  _ smiling.  _

Wide and missing teeth, smiling hard to make his cheeks ache around the giggles that still erupted from his throat. 

“That was so fun! I was so fast!” Tommy yells, lisp and happy. “You shoulda seen me!” 

Techno remembers wanting to be mad, to yell and correct. But the swelling of relief is too sweet in his chest. Tommy’s smile too bright, eyes too wild and clear. 

“I’m sure you were,” he placates because Tommy seems genuinely offended Techno hadn’t witnessed his dangerous stunt. How dare he truly, what a miserable excuse of a brother? He shakes his head smiling softly. “But you could have gotten really hurt, more than what you already did,” he says pointing an accusing finger to the scrapes on his knees and arms. 

Tommy makes a face as if Techno is stupid as he glances down at the injuries he sustained, as if he hadn’t been crying about them moments ago.

“But you’re here,” he says, like it’s obvious and maybe it should’ve been but Techno wasn’t catching on. “You always fix me when I get hurt, like, remember when I broke my arm cause me and Tubb tried climbing that mountain?” 

He does. He was at home when he heard the twin sniffles and cries of the both of them speeding home, Tommy clutching at his arm, Tubbo crying in apology and trauma probably. He had to calm both of them down, it was an entire ordeal. One that Tommy thinks of as a shining memory because Techno took care of him. 

But Tommy was smiling at him, like he had just revealed a universal truth to him, laws the world must abide by in his head. 

That Techno would take care of him when he’s hurt. That Techno would keep him safe. 

His kitchen isn’t as warm as that day in the forest had been. And the Tommy in front of him is no longer that small, naive and trusting child. But he’s still Tommy, and he’s still Techno, he realizes then. He’ll always be bound to that. 

The Tommy in front of him is a shadow of the wide eyed grinning little boy he was. Techno was partly at fault for that he knew, he never claimed to be innocent in all this. But Tommy had come to  _ him  _ and while he could be cruel, has been multiple times, he can’t bring himself to be this time. 

He sighs, and leans back in his chair, bringing a strip of bacon to his mouth and chewing on it. Watching as Tommy gathers his bearings before opening his mouth again. 

“Well that was stupid of you,” he says, because he’s an asshole and not Wilbur or their dad but Tommy came to him for a reason after all and it wasn’t for his bedside manner and sparkling personality. 

Tommy laughs and it’s slightly hollow but there aren’t tears in his eyes anymore. “It was stupid of me.” 

He lets the silence settle again, but it’s full of the sounds of chewing, clanking of forks and yelp of pain when Tommy bites the inside of his cheek from eating too fast. 

It’s familiar and Techno doesn’t  _ hate _ it. 

“Should you be eating bacon? Adding being a cannibal to the list of all things wrong with you?” Tommy says through another mouthful of his food, smirking and shoulders shaking with how much he wants to laugh at his own joke. 

Techno rolls his eyes, kicks Tommy’s shin and laughs at the curse Tommy yells in return. 

They ease into the morning together. For the first time in years. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey,,, how y’all doing,,,, sleepy bois enthusiasts make some mf noise.
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Zoldyke_)


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